


Those Christmas Lights Keep Shining On

by marauders_groupie



Series: A Very Merry Bellarke Christmas! [5]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (you know where i'm going with this don't you?), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, F/M, Snowball Fight, The Blake siblings awesomeness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-16
Updated: 2015-12-16
Packaged: 2018-05-07 03:54:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5442407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marauders_groupie/pseuds/marauders_groupie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke Griffin falls out of her window on Christmas Eve while putting up Christmas lights and the Blake siblings decide to adopt her, to prevent further injury. </p><p>Based on the prompt: "“i live below you and i was minding my own business watching the snowfall out the window WHEN I SAW A BODY FALL ARE YOU REALLY PUTTING UP CHRISTMAS LIGHTS NOW”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Christmas Lights Keep Shining On

**Author's Note:**

> For [Anna](http://nathansscott.co.vu/) who chose this prompt and really needed some Blake siblings love because of the trailer. The trailer was the worst. I hope this'll do, babe. <3
> 
> The title is from Coldplay - Christmas Lights (in spite of it being a really sad song, this is a really happy fic.)
> 
> Enjoy!

Bellamy is just about to put the cookies in the oven when he hears Octavia.

“Bell, someone just,” there’s a tone of uncertainty in her voice and he turns around to see her staring through the window, “well, someone _flew_ by our window.”

Both Bellamy and his sister have got a pretty strong creative streak but this is a stretch even for Octavia. He drops the cookie sheet on the counter, wipes off his hands and joins her by the window.

“Is it a bird, is it a plane?” he teases, frowning at the window in which only their reflections are visible. And snow.

Shit-ton of snow.

Octavia punches him in the shoulder, rolling her eyes. “It’s not Superman, you shitweasel. Someone probably fell down.”

“Move away, maybe it’s Cyclops and his laser eyes are gonna kill you.”

Octavia moves to the side as he opens the window, leaning outside to check the snow below them. They live on the second floor so it’s basically the optimal height for jumping into the snow. Octavia tried but, thankfully, he’d caught her with one leg thrown over the windowsill.

Bellamy really doesn’t know where she gets _that_ streak from.

But it’s not a bird nor a plane he sees lying in the snow outside. In fact, if anything, it looks exactly like the girl from the apartment above them – Clarke Griffin.

“You alright down there?” he shouts, clinging to the window because some people choose to fall out of their windows and he prefers his ass unbruised.

“Just fine!” she squeaks. “Merry Christmas!”

“Is that Clarke?” Octavia asks, prodding his side with her finger to get him to move away. With that, she leans out as well, narrowing her eyes at the darkness. “What are you doing down there?”

And in a quieter tone of voice, she whispers at Bellamy, “It’s a government experiment.”

“I swear to God, you’re banned from watching the X Files with me. This is too much.”

“ _You_ are too much.”

Then she squares her shoulders, nodding to herself before announcing, “We’re going to help Clarke.”

And Bellamy just knows he’s fucked.

 

*

 

Clarke Griffin is lying in the snow and seriously reconsidering her priorities in life. It’s not that she’s broken something - all of her bones are in one piece. The only thing that’s bruised is her ass and her pride.

That’s why she _chooses_ not to get up. She can do it but she won’t.

The Blakes arrive just as she’s done with the first ten years of her life and all the mistakes she’d made throughout that time. As far as she’s concerned, that stage of her life wasn’t the worst – she’s more worried with the things that led her to her ass being buried in the snowbank.

“Wow, Princess, you _literally_ fell for me.”

At 6'1, Bellamy Blake is always towering over her but now that her ass is in deep snow it’s even worse. And he’s smirking, inexplicably making her want to wipe off that stupid expression off of his stupid, cute face.

  
The thing is, Clarke really likes the Blakes. Octavia is fun to be around, despite the fact she’s seventeen. In more ways than one, she’s more of a responsible adult than Clarke is at twenty-two. In any case, the two of them often have dinner together because Octavia’s older brother – the aforementioned Bellamy – works day and night.

And Bellamy – well, Clarke likes Bellamy, in between his takes of trying to be an asshole. He’s a classic type of someone who cares too much but tries to come off as caring too little. If you ask her, it’s impossible – he’s a typical mother hen.

“It’s so hard not to, Bellamy,” Clarke fake-pouts at him, the snow seeping through her clothes and freezing her to the bone.

He chuckles, his face lighting up with a smile and Clarke is reminded of why she likes him that much. Their friendship is an unlikely one – especially if one considers that their first meeting ended up with Clarke punching him because he was an asshole when she was moving in, and he shoved a platter of cookies at her in lieu of apology two days later.

But now they’re alright. It’s easy to be friends with Bellamy, as incredible as that sounds.

“But seriously, _can_ you get up?” he asks her, Octavia bouncing on the balls of her feet next to him. She looks amused while her brother just seems worried.

“I can, yeah.”

Bellamy frowns at her, his eyebrows knitting in confusion. “But you’re not doing it because -?”

“It’s a matter of choice, okay?” she snaps, averting her gaze to the sky again. The snow is still falling, snowflakes catching in her eyelashes and her nose might be frozen. It sure is pretty, though.

Bellamy turns to Octavia, their feet shuffling in the snow, and declares, “She’s concussed.”

Octavia laughs at that, her laughter a sharp, mellifluous thing. A girl who wears reindeer sweaters and always smells like chocolate, but it’s her grin that gives away what she’s been through. It’s too shark-like for her life to have been nothing but joyful.

“She’s not concussed, she’s just fucking weird,” Octavia explains, crouching in the snow next to Clarke and poking her in the side. “Come on, upsy-daisy!”

Clarke lets Octavia pull her to her feet, the girl swearing when some snow ends up in her slippers. Honestly, the only reason Clarke is getting up at all is because she feels sorry for the Blakes. They’re not wearing anything but matching ugly sweaters in the worst shades of green and red, but it’s charming.

“So, what happened?” Bellamy prods again, searching her face for any visible wounds and failing to find any. “Is this one of those YouTube stunts where people jump into the snow?”

Octavia rolls her eyes and adds helpfully, “They do that in swimsuits, Bell.”

Clarke grins at the exchange, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets. She’s proud that she’s thought of that when she straddled the windowsill and hoped for the best – only for the worst to actually happen.

“I was putting up Christmas lights.”

The Blakes gasp in unison, one of the things they have in common definitely being their flair for dramatics. “On Christmas Eve?”

“No time like the present, right?”

Octavia narrows her eyes at Clarke, starting warily, “I thought you hated Christmas?”

“I don’t – “

Bellamy scoffs. “You literally told us to fuck off when we invited you for dinner. I quote, ‘Christmas is for idiots who think there’s something to hope for.’ “

She feels her cheeks burning up, ashamed of ever having said such a thing. But she did say it and drove the point home by slamming the door right in Bellamy’s face. Last Christmas was tough.

“It’s all a part of my redemption arc,” she explains, rubbing her hands together to warm them up a bit. “Oh, I’ve been meaning to ask you – do you have any leftover decorations? Like, tinsel and stuff?”

They gasp again, dramatically taking a step back from her and Clarke now understands the meaning of “looking into the camera like you’re on the Office” because that’s exactly what she wants to do right now.

The Blakes love Christmas beyond measure. If Santa Claus existed and if he had elves, the siblings would be the most enthusiastic ones. On the first day of December, they start blasting Christmas songs. By the tenth of the month, there are three wreaths hanging from their door, lights are on the windows and a plastic, illuminated reindeer is visible from the end of the block.

Clarke isn’t sure why they love it so much but she thinks it probably has something to do with Bellamy working a lot and Christmas being the only time they can be together. Christmas usually means the most to those families that only get that one holiday to be together.

It sure meant that to Clarke’s.

“You don’t even have decorations?” Bellamy whispers, eyes boggling out of his head almost comically.

“Bell,” Octavia solemnly turns to her brother. “Bell, we have to adopt her.”

“I am twenty-two,” Clarke reminds them, eyeing their silent exchange with a dose of healthy concern. She’s always wanted that almost telepathic ability between siblings that allows them to know what the other one is thinking.

They don’t acknowledge her existence for the next two minutes in which she stops feeling her toes, quietly debating until Bellamy groans. “Octavia, no.”

“But, Bell,” she whines, gesturing towards Clarke. It makes her feel really ignored and also weirdly cared for. It’s not all that bad. “Look at her, she’s so inept! She’s _defenestrated_ herself and she’s probably going to poke herself in the eye with a stocking. Do you want that? Besides, I’m sure she doesn’t even have a tree.”

They whirl around to face her, as if only remembering that she’s there, and Clarke sighs at their inquisitive looks. “I don’t have a tree but, guys, seriously, it’s not –“

“See!?” Octavia cries out, nearly slapping Clarke as she flails. “She doesn’t even have a tree! A tree, Bellamy! She’s so Christmastly-challenged and we’d be doing a good deed!”

Bellamy’s eyes flick between Clarke and Octavia – the former shaking, just a little frozen and really hungry, and the latter staring him down until he sighs and agrees, “Alright. Clarke, do you want to spend Christmas with us?”

After a year and a half of hating Christmas after loving it very, very much, the idea of spending it with someone who loves it like the Blakes sounds very good. Sounds like a Christmassy heaven, actually, and Clarke feels a smile tugging on her lips as she nods.

“Yes, please.”

As if that was everything they needed to know, Octavia links her arm through Clarke’s and Bellamy snorts, albeit fondly. He doesn’t seem to mind having guests over and Clarke thinks he’s probably one of those people who are awesome hosts because it’s been instilled in them.

Her assumptions prove to be correct as soon as the door of the Blakes’ apartment shuts behind them and Bellamy gets blankets and fluffy socks in 2.5 seconds. He throws them at Octavia and Clarke, grinning when Clarke gapes.

“Fluffy socks. You gotta have them.”

Octavia seems pretty used to it but Clarke clutches the incredible amount of fluff to her chest, petting it like a particularly cute cat. The apartment is not boiling hot but it’s warm enough for Clarke’s fingers to thaw and she sighs happily.

“This is heaven,” she chimes, looking around in the small hallway and Bellamy smiles at her over his shoulder.

“Wait until you see the rest of the place,” Octavia whispers, nudging her forward. “Bell really went all out.”

Clarke takes three short steps and that’s when the lights hit her.

Their living room looks like the surface of Sun; lights flashing in green, red and gold until they create an aquarelle on the Blakes’ faces. They are looking at her, waiting for her reaction, and Clarke can’t do anything but stare in amazement.

They trimmed the tree with all possible decorations, spanning from ornaments Clarke thinks Octavia probably made in elementary school, baubles shining like crystals on the branches, all the way to tinsel in every color Clarke can imagine.

The tree looks like a pair of overexcited kids decked it but it’s obvious with how much love they did it. Clarke swallows the lump forming in the back of her throat because it’s so beautiful and it’s that love for Christmas she remembers, and now sees, that threatens to submerge her.

God, those two have so much goodness in them.

Clarke looks up when something brushes against her nose and realizes that there are papier-mâché snowflakes hanging from the ceiling, Octavia grinning as she sends them Clarke’s way.

Bellamy, on the other hand, is standing to the side and leaning against the wall with all of his features lit up with affection and it’s now more than ever that she really wants to hug him and ask him, “Why the hell didn’t you tell me you were like this?”

She never would’ve punched him or told him to fuck off when he invited her over last year. Because he’s good and he’s kind, and Clarke is really glad that they’re adopting her for Christmas.

“You guys,” she starts, clearing her throat and trying to stop the tears at bay. “This is – “

“Amazing?” Octavia asks, a grin splitting her face.

“Pretty?” Bellamy supplies, raising an eyebrow at her.

Clarke finally settles for “Wonderful” and steps closer to the tree, as if checking that it’s real. “This is the most beautiful thing I’ve seen in my entire life.”

Octavia murmurs “Of course” and Bellamy ducks his head, the faintest tint of red spreading across his befreckled cheeks. There is something so soft in seeing him like this in his living room, all the lights illuminating them, and Clarke feels warmth blossoming in her chest.

“I’m so sorry for last year,” she whispers, the whole atmosphere making her feel as if it would be a sacrilege to speak above her breath. “I never would’ve – God, this is so beautiful.”

“Apology accepted!” Octavia chirps, looking as proud as her brother. It is then, more than ever, that Clarke realizes how much they look alike. Bellamy’s hair is curlier and darker, his skin more bronze than Octavia’s olive but they’ve got a matching glint in their eyes and when they’re proud or happy, it makes Clarke want to be better. “Let’s go get some food, huh?”

“You go,” Clarke smiles at her. “We’ll be right there.”

Bellamy’s eyebrows knit for a split-second and then he just nods, “In a second.”

If Octavia considers it weird, she doesn’t say anything. Perhaps she’s as glad as Clarke is that she’s getting along with Bellamy. They have been forming a tentative friendship but their belligerent start was always something to be wary of.

Now Clarke isn’t even sure there was anything before his cookie-infused apology and the first time he smiled tiredly at her after she had Octavia over for dinner.

“You’re a good brother,” she finally says when Octavia leaves for the kitchen, smiling when Bellamy flushes. There were moments in which he sighed, leaning against her door and asked whether he was really a good brother if he worked so much. It wasn’t until she’d seen Octavia’s face light up when her eye caught the tree that Clarke really knew that he was and that there was nothing to worry about.

Clarke didn’t know a lot about the Blakes – only bits and pieces. Octavia told her over one math homework or the other that their mom passed away a couple of years ago, and Bellamy explained that he’s working so hard because he wants to keep custody of his sister. But she doesn’t know anything more and really, she doesn’t even have to.

It’s obvious that there is a lot of love to go around and it’s no wonder they’re good at Christmas.

“You really think so?” he asks her, incredulous and Clarke really wants to laugh because _of course_ he wouldn’t believe that. Of course.

She places her hand on his arm, squeezing lightly as his lips stretch into a small, uncomplicated smile. “I do. Octavia is happy, she has everything she needs. She has _you.”_

“And who do you have?”

His words make her breath catch in her throat, every nerve going numb. She never was fair – they told her a lot and she offered nothing.

“No one.”

It’s almost a relief when the words come out. Her dad has been dead for two years now, her mother doesn’t know how to act in Clarke’s presence and all of her friends call but they can’t be _here._

“Wrong,” he counters. “You have us.”

“Is that a Blake thing? Adopting people?”

He throws her a crooked smile and slings an arm around her shoulders, gently guiding her towards the kitchen. They’re affectionate people and she really likes the warmth. She really likes _Bellamy_ in moments like these, when he can let his guard down and just be who he is.

“We adopted you a long time ago, you just haven’t noticed until now.”

“The Blake way, huh? Get under someone’s skin and make them love you?”

Bellamy beams at her, giving her shoulder a quick squeeze. “If that’s what we did, we’re seriously better than we expected.”

And they are better than Clarke thinks she deserves but she’ll take it. They are a good thing and now that she knows what it’s like to have them, even if that just means having Octavia over for dinner and Bellamy exchanging quick words with her after coming home from work, she doesn’t want to know what it would be like to lose them.

 

*

 

Christmas with the Blakes, it turns out, includes a lot of fighting over the proper way to make cookies and enough eggnog to make Clarke feel a little tipsy by her third glass.

“Seriously, Bell, that’s _not_ how you do it!” Octavia protests, peeking over Bellamy’s shoulder as he prepares the batter for cookies. “You forgot cinnamon!”

Bellamy drops the spoon, turning over to take a long look at his sister. “Who even raised you, O?”

“You did, you red-nosed rein-dick.”

Clarke sputters in disbelief at what she’s hearing but Bellamy bursts out laughing. It’s no secret that Octavia doesn’t believe in regular insults. No, she claims that she is creative enough to come up with better insults than the rest of the – as she calls the mankind – peasants.

“That’s a good one,” Bellamy grants. “But cinnamon is added later. Get it together, O.”

“Fine,” she pouts, plopping down on the chair next to Clarke. She’s been sitting at the kitchen table for an hour now, having been ordered not to touch anything and it’s slightly dubious whether it’s because she’s a guest or because they’re worried she’s going to destroy something.

“Clarke and I will just sit here, judging you _loudly_ ,” she says pointedly, glaring at Bellamy over the rim of her eggnog glass.

“Did you ever stop to think that maybe Clarke doesn’t like cinnamon?” Bellamy asks wryly, to which Octavia scoffs.

“Who doesn’t like cinnamon? Come on,” she shoots Clarke a ‘ _can you believe this guy_ ’ look, “that’d be like hating marshmallows.”

Clarke decides to stay quiet for as long as she can because she is the worst person. Somehow, she’s not sure whether that’d fly with Octavia.

But Bellamy shoots her a pointed look and Octavia makes a dramatic pause. “No. _No_!” The corners of her mouth twist into a grimace of disgust and she sneers, “What are you?”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke offers sheepishly, averting her gaze to the pristine kitchen tiles and staying that way until Octavia sighs.

“It’s too late to give you up now, isn’t it?”

“No take backs,” Clarke grins, topping up Octavia’s eggnog to make up for her hatred of cinnamon and marshmallows.

Octavia takes the glass and stands up in protest. “Since you two are absolutely abominable shits, I’m leaving.”

When no one makes a move to stop her, Bellamy just smiling knowingly as he stirs the batter, she pauses to glare at them again. “And look what you’ve done, I can’t even come up with insults anymore.”

With that, she stomps over to the living room and Clarke hears her muttering “Asshats” as the intro tune to Love Actually starts playing.

Bellamy turns over to face Clarke with a bowl in his hand and plops it down on the kitchen table next to her. “Figured I’d keep you company.”

There’s flour in his curls and now that he’s wearing his reading glasses crooked on the bridge of his nose, they’ve got cookie batter smudges in the corners.

With a smile, she reaches for them. “You’ve got some cookie batter there.”

Bellamy ducks his head, corners of his mouth curving up in a shy smile and when her hand brushes against his cheeks – they’re burning up. It’s oddly charming, the way he can go from being an asshole who yells at kids for blasting their music too loud to someone who blushes and smiles like it’s his default setting.

Honestly, the sheer amount of smiling Bellamy is doing today surprises Clarke every single time.

Bellamy’s eyes are trained on her face behind his glasses, flicking to and fro whenever she moves or frowns as she tries to get rid of the smudges. It’s actually ridiculous how disheveled he is, how he bites into his cheek to stop himself from smiling and - that cookie batter.

It’s almost as if Clarke likes this; him stirring the batter next to her as they talk and laugh. She wipes off the smudges on his glasses and can’t stop herself from imagining what it’d be like for him to peck her cheek. Domesticity, the whole nine yards.

The intensity of the thought stuns her a bit and she backs away, trying to look everywhere but Bellamy. Of course she was always aware of his good looks; it’s hard not to be, but. To want those small things, interludes – that’s serious.

An hour passes in companionable silence; Bellamy cooking and Clarke just thinking. Mostly about the fact that this is not how she saw her Christmas going. Instead, she would’ve ordered turkey she’d reheat about a hundred times, watched Home Alone and ended up sleeping on the couch because she couldn’t be assed to move.

It didn’t seem that bad but this was better. Even if she was forced to think about whether she could’ve seen this this state of being charmed with Bellamy Blake coming. The verdict is - maybe.

Maybe, just maybe there were hints of it, traces barely visible to her eyes when she’d invite him in for a beer if Octavia was out with her friends. Maybe it should have been even clearer when he’d pause to talk to her in the hallway, always that hallway with his tired sigh and the ability to question himself into oblivion.

It was easy to become friends with Bellamy Blake.

It is even easier to fall for him.

“Bellamy?”

He hums in response, setting the cookie sheet into the oven and turning it on. When he leans against the counter, her heart skips a beat. Bellamy is wearing the world’s ugliest sweater with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, there’s flour all over the kitchen and she smiles.

“Thank you for this.”

Bellamy frowns at her and she explains, “For inviting me. And for trying to invite me last year.”

“Yeah, well, we were going to invite you this year, too, but last year was kind of – “he trails off, running his hand through his hair. It gets even more mussed up and Clarke really likes it.

“A wreck? Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”

“We can’t all love Christmas,” he shrugs. “But, if you don’t mind me asking, why don’t you?”

Clarke actually does mind, the story having been told at least a hundred times until she realized that it was better to stay quiet. Talking it through didn’t help, not with people who were only curious but had no intention of helping. It always made her feel empty after, like there’s a piece of her soul she gave to them and they don’t know how to handle it with care.

‘Fragile, handle with care’ is a label she never wanted to see plastered across her chest and maybe that’s why she turned her sadness into anger, tears streaming into blood boiling and talking into nothing but silence.

But she wants Bellamy to know.

“You really want me to spill my sob story?”

“I’ll trade you,” he proposes. “Your sob story for mine.”

“A lot of sobbing, then.”

He nods, motioning for her to continue as he takes a seat next to her. There are dark circles under his eyes when he rests his head on his open palm, staring at her with clear interest.

“My dad died on Christmas Eve two years ago. And now it just seems morbid that he’d die on the one holiday he loved the most. He was the worst with Christmas,” she explains with a wistful smile. There are still flashes of her dad’s face, serious as he tells her that Christmas is the best holiday ever. “Always a bunch of decorations, always singing Christmas songs – even though he had the worst voice. He sounded like someone’s skinning a cat.”

Bellamy chuckles at that, still looking at her and somehow, it gives her the courage to go on.

“So, you know – that’s why I can’t stand Christmas. Because he liked it so much and he died just then in a car accident, getting presents for me and my mom. And sometimes I get to thinking – what if we decided not to exchange presents that year? Maybe he’d still be alive, maybe-“she trails off, eyes glued to the cookies glowing golden in the oven. They’ll be great – really, really great.

Bellamy’s voice cuts through the jumble in her mind – memories of her dad interspersed with everyday thoughts like the cookies and Hugh Grant talking his mouth off on the TV in the living room. “I am sorry. I mean, I know it doesn’t help – I used to hate everyone saying sorry all the fucking time after our mom died, but. I _am_ sorry that happened to you.”

He sounds earnest enough for Clarke to look at him again, meeting his eyes and seeing a compassionate, sad little smile. “You know, our mom died and I still have no idea what to say to people when their loved ones die. It’s fucking pointless, it’s not,” he makes a face, his nose wrinkling up, “there’s no rhyme or reason to it. It just happens and we have to live with it. And it’s unfair that we don’t even get a _reason_.”

If Clarke knows anything, she knows the anger that stems from not knowing why someone you loved had to go. It’s absurd and it’s pointless. A reason would at least be something to hold on to. But they don’t even get that.

She places her hand on his, lying flat on the table, and he turns his palm upwards, lacing their fingers together. It feels comforting, talking to him. Everyone always says that they are sorry for what had happened but that’s not what Clarke wants to hear. No, she wants to hear that someone else thinks it’s so fucking unfair and that they should start a riot.

“It used to be so bad,” he continues, looking up from their joined hands at Clarke. “When mom died, I was barely nineteen. She was always working late so O and I were kind of left to our own devices, but we still had her. We still spent holidays together, she was still our mom.”

Bellamy swallows, hard, and keeps talking. Clarke knows what it must feel like – that lump in the back of his throat, all the bitterness he feels and maybe even if they cried for the rest of their lives it wouldn’t change anything.

“She got sick when I was eighteen and died six months later so I dropped out of college, got a job and made sure that Octavia has everything she needs. I’m not saying that because I want a medal,” Clarke rolls her eyes but he shoots her a look, begging her to keep listening, “but because she’s my sister. She’s my responsibility. And even she weren’t – I’d still want her to be okay. That’s why I work, that’s why I have no idea if she’s happy or if she’s acting so I wouldn’t feel bad.”

“She’s not acting. Octavia loves you and she’s happy. Come on,” she nudges his shoulder with hers and feels lighter when he flashes her a smile, “I’ve never seen anyone get along so well like you two. Besides, she’s never said anything bad about you. Honestly, I had trouble reconciling her words with reality until today.”

“Yeah, I am sorry about that,” he grumbles. “We’ve been living next door for a year and- it’s just – my job is shit.”

“It’s fine,” she assures him. “I’m partial to our late-night hallway conversations anyways.”

He flashes her a tortured look and Clarke squeezes his hand a little tighter, shivers running down her spine when his eyes almost seem hopeful. What are they hoping for, she’s not sure.

“Besides, you’re doing it for Octavia. I get that. I get why you’re doing what you’re doing.”

Clarke understands it. But not only that – she _admires_ what Bellamy is doing. It can’t be easy being a museum guard and a bartender, flitting from one shift to the other until everything you can dream of is the comfort of your bed at the end of the day.

And it’s because she can see how entirely selfless he is that she draws closer and presses a peck to his cheek, grinning when he cracks a smile. “You’re a good person, Bellamy Blake.”

 

*

 

Octavia drags them out into the cold soon enough, huffing as she winds her scarf around her neck and pulls her pink pom-pom hat practically down to her nose. She seems irrationally angry about Love Actually’s Mark.

“I can’t stand Mark’s stupid face and I need a snowball fight to channel all this aggression into-“

“Into more aggression?” Bellamy offers and she nods, adamant. “It’s Christmas, O.”

“Ho ho fricking ho!” she says in a monotone, turning to Clarke with a solemn look on her face. “We’re teaming up and we’re taking Bellamy down.”

“I’m not –“

“You don’t get a choice,” she snaps, throwing Clarke’s jacket at her and slamming the doors as she leaves. Clarke mostly just stands in the middle of the hallway, wondering what the hell is going on.

It’s Bellamy who breaks the silence first, chuckling as he adjusts his hat in the hallway mirror. There are stray curls falling in his face and he seems almost amused as he pushes them back in.

“She’s always like that with Love Actually,” he explains, finishing up with his outerwear and coming to help Clarke with a spare purple pom-pom hat Octavia gave her. The girl obviously owns only those and they shake kinda funny. Bellamy flicks it with his finger, laughing when it sways back and forth, hitting Clarke every time.

“I feel like I’ve got a dead badger on my head.”

He laughs even louder, doesn’t stop laughing even when he’s got an arm around her shoulders and they’re following Octavia into the deep snow in front of the building.

It’s only when Octavia announces, “Pom-pom team, attack!” that he goes white, ducking to avoid a snowball that nearly ends up hitting him in the face.

For the next hour or so, Clarke is roped into the weirdest snowball fight she’s ever seen. Octavia is truly warrior-like as she drops and rolls to avoid Bellamy’s snowballs, apologizing to no one and demanding death before dishonor.

Bellamy and Clarke, for their part, try to have as much fun as possible with snow accumulating in their boots and Clarke mouths ‘sorry’ at Bellamy every time Octavia badgers her into throwing a snowball at him.

In the end, it’s Octavia who is their downfall. Screaming at the top of her lungs, she charges at Bellamy and Clarke tries to stop her.

In a mess of being stuck in the snow up to her knees and Octavia’s erratic movements along with prolonged war cries, Clarke manages to trip and it’s pure physics and clumsiness that she somehow bounces off of Octavia and ends up right on top of Bellamy.

Who is very confused.

They snap out of shock when Octavia breaks out into laughter that they snap out of shock and realize that they’re, in fact, in a very funny position that allows their noses to brush. This close, Clarke can count every freckle on his cheeks and when she looks up, his eyes are crinkled with laughter that spills over his lips.

After that, it’s very hard to stay serious and she flops her head down on his chest, cheeks burning up and cold scorching the exposed bits of her throat.

“Well, this is fun,” he whispers, his breath warm on her ear and sending shivers down her spine. They’ve got approximately six layers between their bodies but his hands on the small of her back still set every nerve in her body on fire.

Bellamy is smiling at her, a little incredulous, and she can’t help but to respond in the same fashion.

“You two are hopeless,” Octavia decides at last, wiping away the tears that have pooled in the corners of her eyes. Shaking her head, she picks herself up and declares, “I’m going inside. Feel free to join me or not.”

Clarke isn’t sure how it happens – maybe it’s a Christmas miracle – but Bellamy cranes his neck, looking at her lips through his lashes and soon enough she’s kissing him like it’s the last thing she’ll ever do. Bellamy Blake tastes of cookie batter, eggnog and Clarke was never a cinnamon person but on his lips, she doesn’t mind it one bit.

When she presses one final peck to the corner of his mouth, Bellamy chases her lips and she chuckles. “I’m having the strangest sense of déjà vu.”

Clarke isn’t ready for the clear happiness lighting his face up as he looks at her. Bellamy is just looking, smiling and somehow that’s even better than the feel of his lips on hers. His hand darts out to tuck a stray curl under her hat, lingering on her cheek.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for a very long time.”

She feels her heart swell with affection when he kisses her forehead and she breathes out, “I guess I did fall for you.”

“See?” he asks, pointing at his temple. “Smart.”

“Yeah,” she laughs, nuzzling the skin of his jaw. “Really, really smart.”

Clarke is absolutely gone by the time Octavia opens the window and throws a spring of mistletoe at them, shouting, “Merry Christmas, nerds!”

But this time, she doesn’t mind falling into the snow at all. This time, it’s Bellamy whose arms are wrapped around her, keeping her warm and safe, and really – they don’t even need the mistletoe anymore.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> That's it! I hope you liked it, and if you did - please let me know in form of kudos and/or comments because there's nothing I like more than those. :D
> 
> We can also trash-talk the trailer if that floats your boat (it sure does float mine). 
> 
> Happy 16th of Christmas!
> 
> p.s. i'm also on [tumblr](http://marauders-groupie.tumblr.com).


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